The Shy One (boyxboy)

Chapter Four

Aubrey's momma-------->

Her rampage started about one.

That was early for her, maybe when this was over I could get a little more sleep.

I didn't bother to brush the hair out of my eyes as I heard the angry screams and the stomping of heels from downstairs.

I just curled up under my thin blanket and hoped it would stop.

It didn't.

It was about 30 minutes later when I heard footsteps coming down the hallway and a body slam into the wall.

I forgot to lock the door.

Not that it would have stopped her.

I the door hear slam against the wall and the footstep grow closer but all I can do is curl into a tighter ball.

"You little whore. You're the reason my life is shit!" She slurs almost incoherently but I know what she said. I hear it every night.

"I hate you! You were a mistake! You don't deserve the life I've given you!" She screams, throwing punches onto my back.

I just try to shield my face.

She yanks me up by the hair and slaps me a few times. I feel her nails connect on the last one.

She drops me and slaps my back for good measure before stumbling back out of my room on her stilettos, the door slamming closed behind her.

I don't move. I don't cry. I wish I didn't breathe.

Sadly enough though, I do.

Each breath brings with it a wave of pain from my mother's beating.

I do the only thing I can at that moment and close my eyes to pray for sleep.

-----

My mother is gone by the time I wake up.

In fact it was the slam of the front door that woke me. I lay still for just another moment before I attempt to move.

I sit up slowly, each movement causing pain to flair in my back.

I know it must me littered with bruises. I bruise easily.

Mother tells me that's because of my ugly, pale skin. She has pretty, tan skin. I bet she hardly ever bruises.

I wipe those thoughts from my mind as I carefully stand and grab the clothes I'm going to wear today from the small closet.

I quietly sneak down the hall towards the bathroom. Trying my hardest not to disturb mother even when she isn't here.

Pathetic.

The tan bathroom is neat and orderly. I stare at my reflection in the mirror with sad eyes.

My hair nearly hides the purple bags but not the small cut across my cheek though it just brushes it. It will probably make it infected if it keeps touching it all day.

I ignore the sting on my face and my protesting back as I strip down and hop in the shower.

I wash my hair and body slowly, the warm water taking a bit of the ache from my muscles.

Wow I'm sounding emo this morning. I mean, at least I'm alive and breathing.

Right?

"Two more years, then I'm out of here." I mumble to myself as I pin my hair off my face and pull on black skinny jeans and an old, faded One Direction shirt.